Belfast City Hall, located in Northern Ireland” captionposition=”bottom-right” lightbox=”off” floater=”on” floaterposition=”left” floaterdirection=”none” overlay_revealfx=”off”] [aesop_character img=”http://www.signaltribunenewspaper.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/04/DennyHeadShot.jpg” name=”Denny Cristales” caption=”Online Editor” align=”left” force_circle=”off” revealfx=”off”] Walking through Dublin Airport again was like retracing old steps. Nearly a year ago, the airport was home to my four-hour layover, a detour for a studying-abroad trip to Spain.
This time, Dublin officially graduated from pit stop to destination. Along for the ride were my brother Angel and his girlfriend Brittany, both who— spoiler alert— were promoted to the life-changing role of “fiance” during the trip at a wonderful, duck-filled and green park known as St. Stephen’s Green.
In our week-long stay in early April in the land of clovers, we explored Ireland and Northern Ireland’s respective capitals— Dublin and Belfast. And, as one of the Dublin folk described it in typical Irish fashion, the week’s weather was filled with nothing but “[insert expletive here] rain 24/7.”
The more I’ve explored the United States’ eastern neighbor, the more familiar I’ve become with Europe’s vintage architecture and city layout.
The cities are designed in a way that encourages walking— mapped out in what I found to be an almost diagonal-like fashion and a contrast to, say, Los Angeles, where the thought of walking anywhere is unfathomable. Everything in the United States is spread out, whereas Europe seems to be more condensed.
Of course, being a European pedestrian presents its own challenges. Just as the experience was in Spain and Italy, Ireland is no exception to the unspoken “the street light doesn’t decide when I cross the street, I do” rule. You’ll find that crossing the street has been reduced to a game of Frogger, in which you have to look both ways before you cross the street and run (hop) like mad to make it to the other side. Street lights are simply there for courtesy. The opposite is true for drivers. “Oh, I’m going on green whether there are people in my way or not,” I can imagine them saying. If you are on the road when you shouldn’t be, brace for impact, lad.
A fascination of mine when traveling internationally has been the language. There is no true language barrier in Ireland— they speak English— but the root of distinction is in the accents and word choice. In two separate instances, Irish residents had to correct my use of the words “chips” and “crackers,” which in this case would be referred to as “crisps” and “biscuits.” Chips are French fries. I could practically feel the judgment in their tone as they corrected me, almost as if I insulted their heritage and proved myself unworthy of all things Irish in one fell swoop.
The night life is what you would expect— rowdy, but not the stereotypical “Conor McGregor assaulting a bus full of people” rowdy. As a matter of fact, most Irelanders— and Europeans— are sweethearts.
In one Dublin pub, the Merchant’s Arch, the three of us sang our hearts out to a cover band’s rendition of “Sweet Caroline,” as one older man took turns hooking all of our arms and prancing in circles around the dance floor.
Humorously, during breakfast one morning at our Belfast hotel’s restaurant, my brother was offering me a taste of his dessert. Already satisfied, I had but merely a sliver of some of his muffin, despite his insistence that I try more. Well, an old gentleman sitting next to us must have assumed my brother was denying me a taste of the muffin’s sugary goodness based off my portion size, because, before I knew it, the man plopped another muffin on my plate and merely gestured toward it, as if he made it manifest out of thin air. My hero.
In our view, Dublin seemed to have a more “small city” feel compared to Belfast’s metropolitan vibe. Both cities carry a tremendous amount of history— St. Patrick Cathedral, built in 1191 in Dublin, and the RMS Titanic Museum, a retrospective look at the “life and death” of the famous Titanic vessel that was built in Belfast, for example.
The Troubles
“Turmoil, loss, trauma” and, eventually, “hope.”
These words were used to describe a three-decade conflict that engulfed Northern Ireland in the late 20th century. Belfast City Hall’s east wing has a dedicated visitor exhibition that details the city’s past, present and future.
At the proverbial heart of the exhibition is the Reflection Space, a pale-white room filled with personal quotations of those who lost loved ones from 1968 to 1998 during violent political unrest.
Referred to as The Troubles, the conflict centered around the constitutional status of Northern Ireland, according to the BBC UK. Two factions fought their personal war on the residential streets of Northern Ireland to meet their individual ambitions of solidifying the territory as either part of the Republic of the United Kingdom or the Republic of Ireland. The core of contention was to restructure the identity of government in the country, the exhibit read.
“It was hard that I had seen my mother at suppertime. She went out and, when she was brought back, she was in a coffin,” the quotation read, recounting the death of the many victims during the Shankill Road Bombing in 1993, which was carried out by the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA). “I want my children to understand that the Catholics and the Protestants, we’re all the same, we bleed the same, we cry.”
Others have found peace in sharing each other’s pain.
“I met one other woman from north Belfast whose husband had been murdered by the [Ulster Freedom Fighters], and she knew that I’d a husband murdered by the IRA,” another excerpt read. “And we talked, and we just hugged each other, and it was nice. She had the same hopes, she had the same fears that I had, and both our concern was sort of for our families. […] And to think you don’t know what grief people are carrying around.”
At our trip’s end in Dublin, we hailed a taxi to get to the airport. We exchanged pleasantries with the driver and engaged in small talk about the week-long trip. Somehow, The Troubles came up. As it turns out, our driver had lost a friend during the conflict. Another victim of street violence.
“He was a good man,” I heard him mutter under his breath as we approached Dublin Airport.
It has been exactly 20 calendar years since The Troubles ended, and its impact still resonates with Irelanders, regardless of which republic they are from. The proof was right in front of us. And, as we gathered our belongings to begin our own journey back home, perhaps we took a piece of Ireland with us. We may never identify with the conflict on an emotional scale, but perhaps it is our due diligence as tourists to at least recognize and inform others that both beauty and terror are everywhere.
Northern Ireland was home to turmoil, loss and trauma, and, now, the time for hope has begun.
